Rearranging
by A Murmured Silhouette
Summary: Remus and Sirius have an odd past when it comes to showing affection--in other words, Sirius is very affectionate but never, well, serious about any of it--and it all comes down to one snowy winter afternoon. Marauders-era.


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**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and related characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and various publishers.

**Rearranging**

Remus sees no point in denying it anymore: there are few things he enjoys more on a cold day than curling up by the fireplace with a good book and a steaming mug of hot chocolate. The ideal time for partaking in this most pleasurable afternoon activity is when the Gryffindor common room is quiet (preferably entirely silent with no one else around, but, as Remus has come to accept, this rarely ever happens) and there is no one around to disrupt him or call him boring because he would rather read than roll around in the snow trying to avoid getting pelted in the face with cold, hard snowballs.

This is how Remus spends the last afternoon before the Christmas holidays: reading The Count of Monte Cristo for the eighth time in his favorite squashy armchair beside the fireplace, hot chocolate in his hand. Sirius, James, and Peter are outside, no doubt freezing each other's arses off and trying to see who blacks out first by getting hit with snowballs the most times in a row. Remus smiles to himself; there is nothing he would rather be doing at that very moment than reading his book and sipping his hot chocolate. He is unlike most sixteen-year-old boys, especially sixteen-year-old Gryffindor boys, in that he enjoys solitude more than snowball fights.

The portrait-hole slams open with a loud banging noise, causing Remus to jump in alarm and nearly spill hot chocolate all over himself, and in walks a wet, red-nosed, bundled-up, practically frostbitten Sirius.

"I can't feel my hands, mate," he says, kicking off his heavy boots. He peels off his outer layers until he is down to nothing but his undershirt and underwear, leaving a trail of wet, snow-covered clothes across the common room as he walks toward Remus, who winces at the mess.

Being friends with Sirius is completely unlike being friends with anyone else, Remus thinks. Sirius is loud, and he talks too much, and he is, on occasion, extremely annoying. He can't ever just shut _up_ for a minute and listen to anyone else's opinion; if he doesn't come up with the idea or the plan, it is by default a bad one.

And then there are the times when he kisses you, full on the mouth, and there's nothing you can do about it except laugh it off as if it doesn't matter, because those kisses aren't for _you_, they're for all of Sirius's friends when he is happy about something, and you _definitely_ can't act like you enjoy his kisses, because _they are not for you_, and he kisses James and Peter exactly the same way. You can only smile along with them and pretend it doesn't make any sort of difference one way or another.

There was one more time, too, just a few days ago, but Remus doesn't like to think about that, because there was no doubt about it—it _was_ deliberate, no matter what he might try to tell himself and no matter what Sirius might say in his own defense. Remus doesn't _like_ to think about it, but that doesn't mean he never does.

The only time hot chocolate ever makes Remus nauseous is when Sirius is around.

"I'm surprised," he says. "You're worn out before James and Peter. You must be getting weary in your old age, my friend, for I do believe I recall last year's Snowball Death Match, when you stood outside at two in the morning screaming up at our dormitory how it wasn't over yet, they were just a couple of girls who didn't have a real fighting spirit, and that you would get them when they least expected it?"

Sirius smiles sheepishly, clumsily running a numb hand through his wet, crunchy hair. It's frozen at the tips and won't move out of his eyes. Remus does not want to look at him, because seeing Sirius's eyes peeking out from under that thick hair does things to his stomach and heart rate he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. "You really remember all that?" he asks.

Remus shrugs. "I remember everything," he replies in what should have been a very offhand way. Instead, it sounded entirely too meaningful.

Sirius looks at him oddly. He opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it, and sinks backwards into the chair behind him. He and Remus are still close enough to touch. Remus adjusts his body, trying to fix that. It doesn't work.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to come adventuring with me and James over the holidays?" Sirius asks in a feeble attempt to change the subject. "It's not too late to change your mind, you know."

"I have a lot of work to do," Remus says awkwardly. James's parents are taking the two of them to Majorca. He _does_ want to go, sort of—he hates feeling left out of James and Sirius's adventure time, which he almost always does, but half the time it's his own choice to stay out of it.

"So do I," Sirius says. "What's your point?"

"My point," Remus says, "is that if I don't have time to do my work, you three won't have time to copy it."

Sirius bites his lip and nods. "Good point."

They are silent for a moment, and both boys are pretending not to think about what they had silently agreed not to think about.

"So," says Sirius, "What are you going to do while you're here, then? You're going to be all alone."

"I'm going to work," Remus says. "And besides, I like being alone."

Sirius examines his hands, which have now warmed up enough for him to flex his fingers to start getting the blood flowing again. Remus watches him out of the corner of his eye. Sirius's hands are lovely hands, with big palms and long, slender fingers. Artist's hands, Remus thinks, which is funny, because the _last_ thing Sirius is is an artist. He glances over at Remus, who doesn't look away quickly enough, and for a minute they stare at each other. Remus's heart is starting to beat abnormally fast again, as it does every time he's alone with Sirius these days.

"You don't want to, you know, end up alone, though, do you?" Sirius asks in what he must have thought was a very casual manner, looking at his hands again.

Remus looks at him in alarm. "God no," he says. Sirius has just touched on one of his most sensitive subjects, probably without even realizing it. Most of the time, it seems like Sirius doesn't notice much. He takes a breath. "I probably will, though."

Sirius looks at him curiously, raising his eyebrows. "What in the name of Minerva McGonagall would make you say _that_?"

"I don't know," he says, scowling. He is usually not one to share, and by stating one of his fears for his life—being alone—he has opened himself up to vulnerability he is not comfortable with in the least. "It's just what I think sometimes."

Without thinking, Sirius reaches over and grabs Remus's hand, twining his fingers into his, soothingly stroking his hand with his thumb. Remus's whole body tenses at Sirius's cold-fingered and uncharacteristically comforting touch, but he doesn't pull his hand away. He finds that he can't, or maybe he just doesn't want to.

"You won't be alone as long as you have me," Sirius says, reaching over even more to take Remus's other hand.

Remus's breaths feel thick in his throat now. Every time he swallows his own saliva it is a needy gulp. Sirius is still holding his hands.

"I wasn't worn out, by the way," he says.

"What?"

"The snowball fight. Those pussies can't wear me out," he says, smiling lopsidedly. His hair is no longer frozen, it is just wet, and still in his eyes, and the things the sight of him is doing to Remus are definitely not anywhere in the Bible.

"You just got sick of throwing snow around, then?" Remus asks, his voice raising several degrees as Sirius, still holding his hands, crawls into the chair so that he is practically on top of him. Remus would normally object on the grounds of invasion of his personal space, but this time is different. For once, Remus wants someone, a someone named Sirius Black, in his personal space. It's about time, too, he thinks, after all those kisses he pretended not to like and that one he didn't bother pretending with but has definitely not thought about since.

"No," Sirius says, his face mere inches from Remus's. "I was thinking about the other day. I mean, it's really the first time I've thought about it since it happened, you know, it's not like I've been thinking about it a lot or anything, but I was thinking about it, and God, now I can't _stop_ thinking about it, and it's bad, Moony, it's bad because I'm thinking about kissing you more than I've ever thought about kissing any girl, ever."

Remus gulps. If the fire is still roaring as it was ten minutes ago, he can't hear it anymore. If his hot chocolate is still somewhere in his stomach, it is about to meet his pants and, possibly, his trousers.

Sirius swears suddenly, and then he and Remus are kissing, and Remus is dizzy. He doesn't know the first thing about kissing, especially about kissing other boys, and he hopes he is doing it right. He is, if the way Sirius is making little whimpering sounds is anything to go by.

Remus thinks of something and does nothing short of pushing Sirius off of him. "Is this going to be something to add to our growing list of things we can't talk about?" he asks, licking his already wet, swollen lips.

Sirius is breathing heavily. He pushes his hair out of his eyes, shakes his head no, and hungrily leans back in for a second go.

Remus holds him back. "So what's going to happen, then? Are we just going to be a couple of blokes who kiss, or what?"

"You ask too many questions," Sirius complains, planting little kisses all along Remus's neck and jawline, sending little shocks of electricity throughout Remus's body. "I don't have any answers for you, mate, I'm sorry. Let's just take things as they come."

"But I _know _myself, Padfoot," Remus says. "I'm going to get attached and then I'm going to get hurt and I don't want that at all, so if I'm going to get hurt and you're going to ditch me for some girl somewhere down the line, let's just stop right here."

"No girls," Sirius says breathlessly, looking at Remus with large, sincere gray eyes. "Only you."

Remus smiles and presses his lips to Sirius's, hard, running anxious hands through wet, tangled hair. Sirius deepens the kiss, moving his body on top of Remus's, both of their legs dangling off one end of the chair.

"We'll always be together, Moony," he says, his breath heavy and his whole body tingling. "Even if we have to do a little rearranging."

Remus doesn't know what it is, but something inside him strongly believes that Sirius is right. He's never failed him yet.


End file.
